


Schrodinger's Vallaslin

by Sarah1281



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, F/M, Humor, Poor Orwen just does not understand, Solas may understand less than she does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/pseuds/Sarah1281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conversation had already not gone how Solas had planned it when he brought up the vallaslin instead of his true motives but it turns out the way culture changes over time is the least of Orwen's concerns. Namely, why is everyone so convinced that she has the vallaslin when they're looking right at her and yes, in fact, she's already had this conversation with her keeper. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrodinger's Vallaslin

Orwen just stared at him for a moment. “Are you joking?” 

“I know this must be difficult to accept, my love, but I assure you that it’s all true. The vallaslin originated as slave markings and I wanted you to know the truth and to give you the option to remove it if you wish.” 

“I just…don’t even know what to say,” Orwen said. 

“It’s lot, I know, take your time,” he said gently. 

“It’s not that,” Orwen said. “I…you know what, that’s going to take too long. We’ll get back to that. You said that these are salve markings and the Dalish just forgot about that?” 

“You’re the one who said you didn’t know they were slave markings,” he pointed out. “I’m trusting you here.” 

She nodded. “No, I know. I’m just saying I don’t understand what you think happened. The ancient elves go along, knowing all about the markings, then whatever happened and Arlathan fell. I can see how much of their culture would be lost over time and as they became refugees. I mean, not everyone in Tevinter can speak Tevene and nothing even happened to them to make it hard for them to keep their language. But…before Arlathan fell everyone knew what the markings meant, right?” 

“I can’t imagine why anyone would keep it a secret.” 

“So do you think these first Dalish who knew very well what the markings were for just…up and forgot? Some kind of mass head trauma or weird amnesia spell? Did they choose to make getting one a rite of passage to distinguish the Dalish from other elves and just not tell anyone why anyone had markings in the first place?” 

“I wasn’t there,” Solas said simply. “I don’t know what happened. I could see the Dalish wishing to forget about their unfortunate legacy of slavery, though, particularly in light of what has happened to so many elves.” 

“In that case, is it really so much a case of getting culture wrong or them changing the meaning?” Orwen asked pointedly. 

“The markings were the mark of servitude towards the elven gods,” Solas insisted. 

“Originally, yes. They were. But culture doesn’t mean one thing is true and remains true forever and must never, ever change. If you can keep the markings and get all the details exactly right then you don’t just forget what they mean. They chose to take slave markings and, in the fact of Tevinter slavery, give themselves a symbol, a reclamation that could never be taken away. Or so we thought. I guess you know a spell we don’t. These days the markings mean freedom and defiance and a proud legacy still remembered. The markings don’t seem to have power anymore and unless we run into an actual elven god they don’t seem to be dangerous.” 

“I see,” Solas said. “Does that mean that you are choosing to keep yours?” 

“I really don’t understand how you can even ask me that,” Orwen said frankly. 

“It was only an offer and one kindly meant,” Solas said. “I apologize if I upset you.” 

“You did but not for the reasons you think, I assure you.” 

“Then I do not know what you mean,” he admitted. 

She sighed. “Just…look at me, will you? Look at my face.” 

Solas peered closely at her. “Yes?” 

“You want to remove my vallaslin, is that it?” she asked. 

“Only if you wish it.”

“The vallaslin that I have on my face, that you are looking at right now.”

“Yes, that is what I mean,” Solas said. “Have I been unclear in my intentions?” 

“Tell me about the vallaslin that I have,” Orwen instructed. 

“What is there to say?” Solas asked. “They are slave markings and it pains me to see them on you.” 

“And it pains me for you to see them on me. Probably more so, really.” 

“And yet you don’t want me to remove them?” he inquired. “Or do you not wish for me to look at you anymore?” 

“Solas, I’m just going to come right out and say it,” Orwen said bluntly. 

“I really wish you would.” 

“I don’t have any vallaslin. I don’t even have any other tattoos. I have the barest face you would ever hope to see. I…don’t get why you didn’t notice that.” 

“I don’t understand you,” Solas said. “You’re twenty-five. That makes you an adult and you are Dalish. Therefore, you have vallaslin.” 

“Therefore I should have vallaslin,” Orwen agreed. “I really should. And my poor keeper has threatened to pelt me with fireballs if I have children or start going grey while still being legally like a five-year-old.” 

“But…you have vallaslin,” Solas protested, staring fiercely at her. “You’re Dalish!” 

“I will never understand why so many people in my life think that I have the vallaslin,” Orwen said, shaking her head. “I don’t. I mean, it’s a reasonable assumption to make about me before you meet me if you know my age and my Dalish-ness. But afterwards? I think that people just know that I’m Dalish and so assume I have them and so, I don’t know, convince themselves they are there. But, other than my clan who is heavily involved with the me not getting vallaslin drama, everyone I meet instantly identifies me as Dalish and sees imaginary vallaslin on me and it doesn’t make sense. I told Varric about it and I’m not sure if he believes me or not but he’d never dare to argue with someone he thinks is literally Andraste’s chosen and he’s actually writing a story about it.” 

“It does sound very…” Solas trailed off and shook his head. “Are you sure you don’t have them?” 

“Pretty damn sure. It’s not the kind of thing you forget about. Especially with everyone else trying to make you think you’re crazy because of it. If only there was a term for people trying to make you question your own reality and drive you crazy,” Orwen mused. 

“I definitely see some vallaslin,” Solas said. “Though I cannot give any details. Perhaps it’s some sort of an illusion one way or another?” 

“I’m almost tempted to let you ‘remove them’ just to see if that would make a difference,” Orwen said. “But I’m kind of worried without any vallaslin you’d, like, strip off part of my skin.” 

“Why would you not receive your vallaslin?” Solas asked, ignoring that. “You’re very much an adult. You’re leading the Inquisition!” 

“Well, technically all I needed to do to lead the Inquisition was to be the Herald and I could be in a more figurehead role if I had to be. And all I had to do to be the Herald was to barge into a room, try and catch something someone threw at me, and then run. But you’re trying to get rid of my non-existent vallaslin,” she reminded him. “Why do you care?” 

“Well it’s a little unorthodox,” Solas said tactfully. 

“So is everything else about my life lately,” Orwen griped. “I’m a very fickle individual. It’s why I change the color of my armor at least once a week and keep switching out my weapons. The vallaslin would, supposedly, be for my entire life. What if I liked one and got that and then next year would be sick of it and want a different one? You can’t just change it. And even if I had your spell and erased my own and was willing to sit through getting a new one every year – which I’m so not – no one else would humor me getting yearly vallaslin.” 

You would have to live with it. Everyone else does.” Solas paused. “And no interpretation of the vallaslin’s meaning puts stock in how pretty it is.” 

“I prefer the term ‘striking’,” Orwen corrected. “And I know my values. Besides, who wants choices they made at eighteen to define their life? Dorian and Varric’s increasingly outlandish bets about Corypheus or his dragon killing me aside, I intend to live forever. Can’t make these decisions lightly.” 

Solas got an interesting look on his face that, if Orwen had any idea about his true intentions, would probably worry her a great deal. As it was, people often made that face when discussing the vallaslin with her and so she thought nothing of it. 

“You could try going by which god you like more,” Solas suggested. 

She rolled her eyes. “Same problem.” 

“What do you think of Fen'Harel?” Solas asked casually. 

She shrugged. “Eh, he’s okay, I guess.” 

Solas’ eyebrows shot up. “Really?” 

“If you thought I’d feel differently then why’d you ask?” 

“It’s just that most of your people rather despise him.” 

Orwen nodded. “On account of the whole betraying and sealing away the other elven gods thing?” 

Solas winced. “Yes, that.” 

“Well, what can I say? I don’t trust gods. Corypheus is trying to be a god. The Archdemons were all gods once and even though I kind of totally ignored that last Blight I heard it was dreadful. Then even the Chantry confirms the Maker was a huge dick even if they deny that interpretation if you call them on it and even Dorian’s started suggesting I stop mentioning that around Mother Giselle so much. And, I mean, I’m sure he had a reason to seal everyone away if he even did. No one does things just because. It might be a terrible reason, I don’t know, but he evidently didn’t do it so he could rule over us all in peace and it happened thousands of years ago anyway so…it’s all just a story in the end, isn’t it?” 

“You have a very interesting way of looking at the world,” Solas said finally, shaking his head at her. 

“So we’ve established with my lack of vallaslin. Speaking of, what are you, my keeper? I’ve heard all this before.” 

“I just…can’t believe that’s it.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Solas told her. 

“There’s also the fact that I don’t need it to identify me as a Dalish since people see some sort of phantom vallaslin although I suppose I didn’t know that when I first didn’t get them done. Actually, my keeper thought I was kind of immature so she didn’t mind at first. It’s just seven years later she thinks it’s getting a little ridiculous. And then there’s the pain! I’m told it’s the most painful thing any Dalish I’ve ever met has gone through. And, like, I am not here for that kind of negativity.” 

“I don’t relish being put into a position of defending the vallaslin to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to so don’t feel put upon on my account,” Orwen said. 

“Of course it’s painful. That’s why it’s a rite of passage. If it means a lot to you then you should tolerate the pain.” 

“As my keeper says,” Orwen said, sighing. “But really painful. And even if I could try and just suck it up, the Dalish customs are just too hardcore for me. Did you know that if you show any discomfort or pain at all then they just stop and wait until later? I don’t want to be the woman with one tiny line on my face because I’d start screaming the second it touched me. Why in the world is that even a requirement? Maybe no screaming but I mean come on. How can anyone possibly suffer excruciating agony and not show any of it? To what end? I’ve got nothing but respect for those who can pull the vallaslin ritual off but I have enough self-awareness to know that that will never, ever be me. I mean, could you do it?” 

“I don’t know,” Solas said. “But I can assure you that my decision not to mark myself thus has nothing to do with such a severe aversion to pain.”

“In many ways, I didn’t really fit in with the Dalish,” Orwen confided. “I think that’s why they sent me to the conclave. I mean, sure, they said I was supposed to spy on them but I’m clearly an elf. Clearly a Dalish elf, even, somehow. I wasn’t fooling anyone. Or at least I shouldn’t have been. Some people are frightfully unobservant.” 

“So I’m beginning to realize,” Solas said. “So…what? You don’t think you could find markings you’d like forever and think it would be so painful you’d rather just be a child to your people forever?” 

“Well, I don’t know about forever but certainly for the foreseeable future. Maybe I can use this time in Skyhold to technically be considered a city elf so I don’t have to get one and people will stop telling me I can’t date and need a babysitter.” 

“Are you going to return to them once you are done with the Inquisition?” Solas asked. 

“Course, I could do that,” she said casually. “And I definitely will go see them and get lectured like all the time. They are my family and I love them, after all.” 

“But?” Solas asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I just kind of have a castle now and I have a ton of power and I’m kind of really loving it,” Orwen said. “I don’t see how my clan can complain. I totally saved them from that idiot noble who was growing red lyrium in the water supply or whatever. I just don’t want to commit to moving back to the forest if I have a better offer.” 

“At least it’s clearly your decision,” Solas said. “So, just to be clear, that’s a no on the vallaslin removal? I feel I rather lost the thread of this conversation some time ago.”

Orwen sighed loudly. “Yes that’s a no! Although it’s also a ‘if we talk for too much longer about how I should really have it I may never get it but if we spend more time discussing how culture can’t change and we’re all marking ourselves as slaves I may go out and get some tomorrow.’ Well, maybe not tomorrow. But soon! And I will make you look at it.” 

“I’m already looking at it,” Solas said. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Orwen asked. “We did come all this way out here and my long and complicated history with the vallaslin I never got doesn’t seem like it requires that kind of privacy.” 

“Removing them might,” Solas said. “But, no, you’re right. I had initially came out to tell you something else but decided to do the vallaslin instead. And I was going to do something else, too, but I don’t even have the mental fortitude to try and deal with that right now. But I’m definitely going to say this to you. Soon.” 

“Soon like before or after I go out and find someone to give me the vallaslin.” 

“Definitely before as I’m still not convinced that you will. Or, in fact, that this is not an elaborate prank and you actually do have it.” 

“Oh, Solas, what you must think of me,” Orwen said, shaking her head. She was smiling, though. “Maybe I’ll even get the Dread Wolf. That would be certainly be original and if I scandalize everyone it’ll be sure to keep it interesting.” 

“Please don’t,” Solas requested. 

She rolled her eyes. “You both don’t want me to get it at all and you think I already have it. Don’t become bound to Mythal, don’t get possibly powerful bindings to Fen’Harel…I’m starting to think you just hate the elven gods.”

“That’s really neither here nor there.” 

“What, really?” she asked, surprised. “No wonder you hate the Dalish. What, are you Sera now?” 

He made a face. “I think not.” 

“Or maybe I’ll design my own and tell people I’ve discovered a new god in some ruins we all forgot about. I wonder if I can convince anyone of that and then other people will be walking around with markings that I just made up.”

“That sounds cruel.”

“Crueler than slave markings?” she challenged. 

Solas hesitated. “Yes and no.” 

“I’d need to get something small. I’ll never understand those people who get them to cover half their face. I mean, who cares what it looks like? You’d have to be sitting there for hours!” 

“I can honestly say,” Solas told her, “that I have never supported the Dalish and their ways more than I do right at this very second.” 

She laughed. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”


End file.
